Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday

Starting in September, I begin working a full work week. That's right, Monday through Friday, five days a week, just like the rest of you working stiffs.

Which means today was my last Tuesday to myself. (Due to an upcoming Labor Day vacay, I'm choosing to work next Tuesday.) And I'm really bummed about it. Tuesdays have been my day to either act like a housewife doing laundry and cooking dinner or to act like an Upper East Side socialite meeting friends for lunch and getting pedicures (as I did today). On Tuesdays, I actually could be the free-spirited woman Mick Jagger sings about in "Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday" and do whatever I wanted.

And that has been beyond helpful to my sanity over these last few months, where my life and career seem to have been stuck in limbo. Not having to run errands after work or on Saturday meant no frustratingly long lines at the post office, always having the big washer available at the laundromat, and my pick of the freshest produce at the grocery store. It also meant plenty of time for job hunting, freelance pitching, and blogging with no interruption (or guilt, as is the case on the days when I am on the job, getting paid by the hour). Plus, it's been incredibly rejuvenating for my weekends, which could now be completely dedicated to more time with my husband, family, and friends due to the lack of aforementioned errand-running.

But just to be clear, I am by no means bemoaning the fact that I will actually be making more money, at least for the month of September anyway, when the gig is up. And hopefully, should I actually land a job in the meantime, it will be a nice segue, rather than an abrupt thrust back into reality.

Still, my experience really makes the case for a four-day work week, which multiple studies have found increase productivity and worker satisfaction. If I'm ever a boss, I'm sooooo implementing this.

Photo: Print Company

I wonder: What would you make of a four-day work week? 

The Cover Letter I Really Want to Write

Dear Sir or Madam or HR Manager (I never know how to address these things),

I am applying for the job you posted but understand it is probably a waste of my time. I will spend hours customizing my cover letter to you only to hear absolutely nothing in response.

My experience will meet close to every one of your requirements, but for reasons unbeknownst to me, I will not be called in for consideration. I know this, and yet I still try, in the vain hope that maybe this time I will get through the stack of applications filling your inbox.

Though truth be told, maybe it's partially my fault. I've gotten lazy as of late, copying and pasting pieces of previously written cover letters into one Frankenstein-like document. But really, can you blame me? I'd like to meet the person who isn't a little beaten down after seven months without a steady job, and certainly not due to a lack of trying on her part.

Anywho, my resume is attached, and I hope to hear from you soon, though I won't hold my breath.

Sincerely,
Me

How Life Is Like Tetris

I was playing the game on my phone while on the subway the other day, and I had everything lined up perfectly -- and I mean that literally. I had my blocks set up so that the square block that was coming up to play next would give me a full-on Tetris. (For the uninitiated, a true Tetris is when one clears the game of all the blocks.)

I thought, Oh my god, it's coming. It had been so long since I had cleared the board (first time in the mobile app), I was actually excited. How would the game congratulate me, I wondered dorkily. With my next move, I will have set the bar for myself, which is equally exciting and frustrating in follow-up games.

So I moved the block into position, and swiped it down. It landed, complete with the sound of the game's trademark thump, in the wrong spot. One row off to be exact. God dammit, I exclaimed, ever so softly but still out loud on the train. I had blown it. I got cocky, and wasn't careful enough. I spent the next 10 or so minutes of my ride trying to fix my mistake, and while I made some inroads I never did get close to that full clear. I was legitimately pissed.

And then it got me thinking about how my day had gone similarly. I found out I had yet again come thisclose to getting a job, but got beaten out by another candidate. Like last time, I thought I had nailed this one, but when all was said and done, I came up short. One row off, you might say.

Still, I thought, the game isn't over. While writing an article about how to effectively re-enter the workforce, I interviewed one of the authors of this book, who said the following, which has stuck with me throughout my employment limbo:

I do think it’s really useful to understand the macro-factors that are hindering you, because that’s also what’s going to help you make better choices. One of the main principles we talk about in the book is the idea of "try harder." It’s advice that so many people give over and over again when you’re stuck, and trying harder is often the absolute worst advice you can give someone. When you find yourself putting more and more effort into something that’s getting less and less results, that’s not a signal you should keep trying. It’s just the opposite.

The point being, it may be time to attack your problem from a new angle. 

So I'm thinking it might be time for me to find a new way to organize my blocks in life. I have a few ideas, but they won't be easy, so if I'm really going to do it, I need to full-on commit. And that, my friends, scares me.

I just have to keep reminding myself the game isn't over.

Photo: The Neurocritic

I wonder: Have you ever rearranged your blocks in life? How did you do it? 

P.S. I'm on vacation next week, so any radio silence here doesn't mean I've fallen off the blogwagon again.

Two Years

That's how long experts say it takes a person to get over an unexpected, traumatic event, like a divorce or job loss.

TWO YEARS. 

That sounds so long. And depressing. (It's worth noting that death is not included in this estimate. Getting over something like that typically takes longer.) What's more, these experts say you shouldn't try to expedite or deny this two-year process because that only postpones the inevitable day of reckoning. "After all, it takes time to rethink all the things that may be disrupted by emotional trauma, such as one's living situation, finances, professional goals and—maybe most important—how a person sees him or herself," Elizabeth Bernstein writes for The Wall Street Journal. (Ed note: I had no idea the Journal did these type of touchy-feely stories.) "There aren't any shortcuts. 'The whole sweep of your life has to be reassessed and rewoven,' Dr. [Prudence] Gourguechon says."

Makes sense. But still. Two years? That amount of time shocked me. That's 24 months, or roughly 730 days. Talk about dwelling on the negative.

I guess the good news is that given my crappy year-and-a-half, I'm halfway done with the drama.

I wonder: Do you agree that it takes two years to get over a traumatic event?

2013 Was Going to Be My Year

That is soooooo not the case.

I had such a crumby 2012 that I was convinced 2013 would be great. It had to be -- it was owed to me. I started the year off hopeful, but by February, it was quite clear 2013 didn't think it owed me a thing. It started off with receiving some not-so-great-health news, followed by losing my job (six months later I'm still technically unemployed), then my cat died, the IRS came calling for a couple grand due to a prior mix up, and most recently my best friend moved to D.C. Now yesterday, I found out I didn't get this job that I really, really, really wanted.

Wah, wah. 

Sure, there have been a few bright spots, but by and large 2013 has sucked just as bad -- if not more -- than 2012. I'm so ready for 2013 to be over that when people ask my age, I reply 34. (I'm 33.) I don't do it on purpose (unless you're 20, who ever wants to get older?) but I think it just speaks to how ready I am to move on from this year, this age, and this phase of my life.

This all sounds more dire than I really mean it to be. In fact, recapping all of this, I kind of have to laugh (and believe me, I haven't told you everything). Oh, Life, that fickle frenemy. For all the crap it's thrown at me in the last seven months, it's at least shown me that losing your job isn't the end of the world, I'm stronger physically and emotionally than I've ever given myself credit for, and yes, taxes really are as certain as death.

Speaking of strength, I do still have one holdout hope for 2013: this is the year I am determined to do an unassisted pullup -- maybe even two. Trainer Chad keeps telling me he knows I have the strength to do it, I just need to get out of my own head and make it happen. Easier said than done, but I am hopeful.

Photo: CentralMass.org

Randomonium

Because when I did a Google image search for "random," this is what came up.

Aaaah, it has been sooooooooo long!

I've missed this blog, and even recently found out that I have a few dedicated readers who I've been disappointing with my absence. (Hi Emily, Katie and Janet!) My excuse? I've been busy. Even with only working part-time. (I'm always sort of blown away by how running a few errands can eat up an entire afternoon. How did I do all this with a full-time job? And at a startup, no less.)

But alas, today I have some time, and feeling inspired by my friend Ilyse, who recently started her own blog chronicling her adventures in her new home base of D.C., I made a point to write today. There's actually been a lot I've wanted to write about in the last few weeks (month, really!), but never managed to fully form thoughts about. Here are a few of those thought-provoking topics: 

5 Things Parents Need to Stop Saying to Non-Parents 
I've heard some of these comments, and always thought I was being overly sensitive in being annoyed by them. It's nice to know I wasn't.

Women Who Keep Their Maiden Names Aren't Necessarily Feminists 
I just like my given name, okay? It has a certain ring to it.

Temporary Jobs Becoming a Permanent Fixture in U.S. 
This one hit home, because being in a temporary gig -- as much as I enjoy its flexibility -- is stressful for a Type-A personality who always needs to know what's coming next. It's a bit frightening to me that this could be the future way of the workplace.

Are Suburbs Where the American Dream Goes to Die? 
I like city life, but there are elements of suburbia that I miss. Like Target. A patch of grass that's all mine. Driving. (Until I drive, and then I hate it.) I'm known to sometimes romanticize suburban life, and this news doesn't make me feel good.

And so that's it. Hopefully one day soon, I'll actually have time to read an article, form an opinion, and then write about it.

But until then, it's been nice catching up.

I wonder: What's been on your mind lately?

Enough Already

Yeah, I know it's been a while, but there's nothing like disgust to get one blogging again.

I saw something today that made me sick: Trayvon Martin’s dead body.

The photo, posted by Gawker, was allegedly meant to spark anger, not pageviews. The Root has a great rebuttal to this rationalization, and my cynicism in Gawker’s motives is why I’m not linking to it. (As if I have that many readers!) If you really want to see it, I’m sure you can find it.

I honestly didn't realize that when I clicked on the link from another story that that is what I would see. Though I should have known better, knowing how Gawker Media operates. My immediate reaction was to look away, scroll down so it was out of sight, and close the page. What his family must feel like, knowing this image is out there, open for commentary, I thought. 

The whole thing reminded me of another recent occurrence that involved a graphic photo. A man recently committed suicide by jumping in front of the elevated line in Astoria. The event got very little press, despite the fact that his body parts wound up strewn all over the street. At 4 o’clock in the afternoon. A time that, as some of my Astorian Facebook friends noted, children where headed home from school. Gothamist linked to some tweets that had images of the severed body parts on the street (which is a whole other outrage). My morbid curiosity got the best of me, and I clicked. Then I shrugged. It looked like nothing more than a scene from a horror movie. Yes, I was disgusted with myself for several reasons, but was most struck by my “meh” reaction. Had I become that desensitized to violence?

That image of Trayvon Martin showed me that I had not. Sure, I wasn’t prepared for it, and unlike the Astoria man, Trayvon didn’t choose to die. But by clicking to see either photo, what I showed was disrespect. If I need to see gore that badly, I should go see a horror film. And so the next time I’m confronted with a graphic image of a dead body, I’m not going to look at it, morbid curiosity be damned.

Also, I’m never reading Gawker again.

If You Can Make It Here...

I don't like to lose.

Today I read about the film Frances Ha, which tells the story of a 27-year-old woman who moved to  New York City to become a dancer, and is beginning to experience the hard reality that she's just not going to be one of New York's chosen ones.

It looks comically depressing, and also more relateable than any New Yorker would like to admit:


Sometimes, New York can be the perfect metaphor for life: you constantly have to adjust your expectations. The last graph of the review I read sums it up well:

It gets the spirit of New York exactly right: the constant striving, the reality that you'll forever be surrounded by people who seem more accomplished than you and the deep satisfaction that comes with making it here, even if you have to reconstitute your definition of "making it." 

Which got me thinking about my own definition of "making it." I have forever felt like "making it" in New York was just being able to afford to rent an apartment here, probably largely because in that sense, I had "made it." There was a brief period in 2012 and the beginning of 2013 when I felt like maybe I was destined for something more, but that's since crawled back into the hole into my brain from whence it came. And so I'm back to the small victory of simply being able to afford an apartment here. (Never mind that the place I've lived in for the last six years is rent stabilized, which kind of feels like cheating.)

Now, I admit that I have my moments of New York loathing, lately more often than not, where I wonder what the hell I am doing in this city that is so expensive, so competitive and sometimes so soul-crushing. Still, I am resolute in the fact that New York will not beat me. I refuse to let it kick me out, which I've seen it do to people, whether because they can no longer afford to stay in it, or because they can't find a job. Not me. When it comes time to go -- and that time will come -- it will be on my own terms.

And honestly, I feel as though when I do leave, where ever I wind up, only then will I have truly made it. Because really, if you can make it here, you truly can make it anywhere, because New York is like the boot camp that gets you into the Marine Corp. of real life.

She Likes Me, She Really Likes Me!

Recently, I had a pretty amazing thing happen to me, but there's a little bit of back story before I can get to the amazing part.

Before I got laid off in February, I was interviewing candidates for an associate editor job. I had an appointment set with one girl, let's call her Amy, when I got the bad news. I emailed her to let her know that unfortunately we no longer needed to meet, and I was sorry about that because I really was looking forward to meeting her. And I meant it. She had an amazing resume, and had written some really fantastic, well-reported and well-researched articles for a very high-profile publication. She was very understanding about it all, and said she would keep her ears open for me.

Just recently, I got an email from Amy. "I was just thinking about you and wanted to write to check in," she wrote, and suggested that we get together for coffee sometime.

Wow, how unbelievably nice, I thought. Someone I barely know is checking in on how I'm doing, and wants to meet up, with no ulterior motive. (As I'm currently just a temp, I can't do much for her job-wise, and she was well aware of that.)

So we met for coffee the other day, and it was great. We talked about my old job, the industry, and a little bit about life. It turns out I did have a few job leads for her, which I was more than happy to share because Amy truly is such a fantastic reporter.

Toward the end of our conversation, we talked about how nice it was to finally meet in person, and she said she wanted to reach out again because she got such a good vibe from me from our email exchange. I was flattered of course, and floored at her willingness to explore her gut instinct. How many times have I met people in passing who I felt like I could really click with but never followed up with for various reasons -- no time, I have enough friends, or just plain forgetfulness? It got me thinking about how many amazing people I could be missing out on because of what is essentially laziness (maybe peppered with a little bit of fear of rejection).

We left coffee saying we'd like to get together again soon, and I left thinking to myself how I was definitely going to do that again -- not just meet with Amy, but truly make an effort with the next person I feel like I connect with.

Because who knows? Maybe one day with this small gesture I could make someone's day just like Amy made mine.

I wonder: Have you ever gone out on a limb to meet a new potential friend?

Oof, It's May.

Well, hello again.

As per usual, I didn't intend for this extended absence to happen, but such is life. And I'm just letting life happen these days, remember?

Since I've been at my temp editing gig, I've been privy to lots -- TONS -- of free magazines, one of which is People. The mag recently started a "One Last Thing" feature on the last page of the book, where they ask a star a bunch of random, innocuous questions. Because I have nothing to report, but still wanted to stop by and say hi, I thought it might be fun for me to answer some of these inane queries.

I keep telling myself that nothing has happened that's worth blogging about, but, well, after answering these questions, it's just not true. I did discover Schmackary's after all. (If you're interested in reading the interview with the actual celebrity, in this case Sarah Chalke, go here.)

LAST FILM THAT MADE ME CRY
I don't cry often, but when I do, it's often about animals. So the last movie that made me cry was Marley & Me. I was home by myself and I tried stifling it, but once I realized no one was around to laugh at me, I balled.

LAST TIME I GOT SUNBURNED
On our trip to Puerto Rico. I slathered on the sunscreen but still managed to feel the burn.

LAST INJURY I SUSTAINED 
Over Christmas. I was doing a trail run at my parents' and I tripped -- bad. Real, real, bad. Full-on Slip 'N Slide action. I still have scars on my right knee from it.

LAST VACATION I TOOK
That would be Puerto Rico. Again. (Hmm... maybe this exercise isn't that interesting after all.)

LAST TIME I INDULGED 
Thursday. The husband and I went out to dinner in Hell's Kitchen, and on our walk home we passed Schmackary's for the first time. The smell was so intoxicating it literally formed a hook around our necks and pulled us in. I got the Peanut Butter After Dark, naturally.